Insomnia
by pseudonymical
Summary: In which Eric feels guilty and I exhibit some terrible writing. :


AN: A line break denotes time passing. (The double separates the AN from the story.)  
>Quick little lesson on British slang that I used in case you didn't know it: Cheesed=short for "cheesed off" which means mad. Summat= Yorkshire slang for "something like that". Brassed= same as "cheesed".<br>As some of you, which means none of you, know, I recently got a MacBook Pro, which means that it autocorrects me and I've not yet figured out how to turn it off. So if there are any really weird spelling mistakes, it probably corrected my typo to the wrong thing as usual. Tell me and I'll fix it.  
>Read and review, I'm pretty sure this is terrible. XD<p>

* * *

><p><em> Eric is in a huge, deserted room and he doesn't know how he got there. There's no furniture, and no windows, and only one door, standing open. The walls and floor are all the same nondescript shade of white, giving an eerily sterile look to the place. He takes a step towards the door and things start to happen. <em>

_ Shapes rise from the floor. He jumps back from those in front of him to bump into those behind. Fear rises in his chest as the shapes turn into people-almost transparent, but not quite, and just as solid as he. He's tall, and what he can see over most of their heads frightens him further. The whole room is filled with the washed-out looking people. Their eyes bore into him and they press closer, crowding him. Suddenly, he can hear their voices:_

_ "You killed me..."_

_ "I had a wife, three children..."_

_ "How will my family survive without my income?"_

_ "I was going to get married, I was in love..."_

_ "You killed me..."_

_ "I was only small, mister..."_

_ "It hurt, so much..."_

_ "I wasn't supposed to die!"_

_ "You killed me..."_

_ "You killed us..."_

_ "You killed me..."_

_ The voices seem to be drilling into his eardrums, there are too many of them, and they seem to move closer with the shadow-people, who are now touching him, they're so close. With a thrill of horror, he realizes belatedly exactly what they are-they're souls. _His_ souls. The ones for Alan. That's why there are so many of them-he's at 735, and they're all here. He even recognizes some of them. In a panic-_how can this be happening?-_-he tries to push out of the room, towards the door that still hangs open. He can get out! He has to get out..._

_ The souls don't let him out easily. They grab at his clothing and his body. It's like swimming, in a twisted way. He shoves through them, his breathing quick and short with exertion and blind fear. They're not attacking him, they're just not giving him up. He sees ahead of him the door, with light shining through it. Still the whispers dog him, the souls now seeming personifications of his guilt. He is almost to the door, his fingers stretch towards it and he is almost out!_

_ The door slams shut, touching his hand that is still reaching towards it. He slumps against the door momentarily, then beats on it with his fists. The souls close in, still whispering their poison._

_ "Murderer."_

_ "Killer."_

_ "Animal."_

_ The soul's accusing eyes will never leave his head._

_ The guilt will never vanish._

Eric sat bolt upright in bed, the echoes of the souls' cries dying in his ears. His sudden movement caused him to smack his head with Alan's, who was kneeling, worried, next to him.

"Ow! Eric!" He said. For once, Eric didn't immediately rush to help Alan. He was panting, covered in a cold sweat, and still utterly terrified and not even really seeming to notice the fact that he'd just knocked heads with his best-mate-turned-lover. Alan rubbed his forehead in pain, frowning angrily at his partner. Then he realized Eric wasn't uncaring-he was un-_noticing_. Both of which, in relation to anything to do with Alan, were fairly unusual. Alan frowned, his brow wrinkling in concern. "You all right, Eric?" He said quietly, one hand comfortingly rubbing Eric's bare back.

"Y-yeah. Fine." Eric replied, staring straight ahead. "Go back to bed." Alan's eyes narrowed. Eric was fooling nobody. Fine was one thing he appeared to be far from.

"What's wrong, love? Honestly?" He said soothingly, his hand continuing its circles on Eric's back.

"Just a-a weird dream." _Typical_, Alan thought,_ 'weird', not 'bad'_. Eric would never admit to being scared by a nightmare, although clearly that was what had occurred. The younger man sighed. There was really little he could do with his determinedly stoic partner.

And Eric couldn't tell him about the dream. That would involve telling him about the souls, and he knew Alan wouldn't approve. So he pretended to calm down, evening his breathing and laying back, until Alan seemed reassured of his mental state and turned off the lights again.

He could panic, alone in the dark.

* * *

><p>The next morning, he pretended not to remember the night's events when Alan asked. He apologized for the bruise on his partner's forehead, and groaned comically for Alan's benefit when he saw the matching one on his own cheekbone.<p>

"These're going to be interesting to explain to the others." Alan commented.

"Yeah, well. Sorry again."

"'s fine. I was a bit more concerned with you. You were bloody terrified."

"Was I really?" Eric arched an eyebrow, faking doubt. _Yeah, I was_... "Maybe I dreamed about our friendly neighborhood trannie." He took out his razor and examined the mirror. His eyes were darkly circled from lack of sleep.

"You _better_ not have been dreaming about Grell." Alan said with a hint of a warning in his voice.

"Hey, if I'd'a been dreaming about _you_ it wouldn't have been a nightmare, sweetheart." Eric replied. Alan's resulting glare held the hint of a smile.

"You flirt. Stop that."

"Never. You like it." Eric turned his face to start the shave. "Anyway, who else'm I gonna get to use my cheesy lines on?"

"Stop talking, you'll cut yourself." Alan said, ignoring both his statement and the question attached, though truthfully, he had quite liked the sentiment. No wonder Eric had always been such a ladies man. He could really be very sweet when he wasn't acting like an idiot. His pretty face didn't hurt either.

* * *

><p>"You look tired, mate." Ron said, cocking his head to the side as the two of them walked into the office. Eric flipped him a friendly bird and walked over to his desk to sit down. He hadn't slept in days, not since that nightmare. Well, not significant sleep anyway. It seemed like every time he closed his eyes the souls began to speak. He was finding it harder to kill, too-a soul last night had almost gotten away because he had frozen.<p>

"Don't mind him, he's just grumpy." Alan said, more worried than he was letting on about the nightmares Eric had been having and the dark circles under his lover's eyes.

"Will's a bit cheesed today as well." Grell sighed.

"What'd you do this time, Miss Grell?" Ron snickered. Grell frowned at him.

"I did nothing, thank you, Ronald." He paused. "I'm surprised he still cares when I comment on how adorable he is when he's mad."

"Now, what did you do to get him mad in the first place?" Alan muttered, for Eric's ears alone. The blonde grinned, though it was rather weak.

"Probably grabbed his ass or summat." Alan suppressed a giggle.

"I can hear you, Eric." Grell sniffed, offended. "And I'd like to know how you guessed." That set them all laughing, but Alan couldn't help but notice how halfhearted Eric's mirth was. _He looks so tired, poor thing_. Alan knew a bit more about how much Eric was sleeping than his partner was aware of, and he had also recently heard the other man talking quietly to himself when he thought Alan was asleep. He had no idea what he was talking _about_, though, and he didn't know what was bothering him.

* * *

><p>Eric was drowning in guilt. He sometimes saw blood all over himself sometimes, his body and his hands, and his face, when he looked in the mirror, the hallucination probably caused by lack of sleep. The terrifying thing was that there <em>was<em> blood on his hands-the figurative kind, that is.

"Eric, is there something on your hands?" Alan looked up from his book as Eric staggered in late. Staggering had become the typical for him- lack of sleep seemed to be affecting his balance as well as his sanity- and now he appeared to have something quite odd on his fingers. Looked dark, perhaps dirt? But no, it seemed like liquid, or at least like it used to be. Maybe mud? Eric glanced down at his hands and did a double-take.

"That's really there?"

"What are you talking about? What is that stuff?"

"Ah, s'nothing." Eric shoved his hands into his pockets quickly.

"You're going to get those pants dirty..." Alan warned, returning to his book. He knew what had happened- idiot couldn't even admit when he'd tripped on the way home. He rolled his eyes at the Eric's stubborn 'manliness'.

"I'll do laundry." The blonde called back.

In the bathroom, Eric hyperventilates. He couldn't believe that he had been that careless-he remembered thinking that the blood was just another hallucination. Jesus, he needs sleep bad. Thank the lord the stuff was dried before he tried shoving it in his pockets to hide it from his partner. Now to think of something to tell him-'nothing' almost never cut it with Alan. The trouble with Reaping souls illegally was that you actually had to kill them.

Well, and the guilt.

The guilt was just killing him.

* * *

><p>"Eric, tell me what's <em>wrong<em>, dammit!" Alan cried. Eric felt awful for letting Alan get so worried about him-he'd have to be better about faking wellness. It's been weeks since he's had any decent sleep, he only manages to get any when he's literally too tired to keep his eyes open. Even then, sometimes the dreams interrupt. He remained silent. Couldn't tell Alan what was wrong. The brunette paused to let Eric answer, and when it became apparent that he wasn't going to, he continued. "You've not been sleeping, you walk around like a zombie! You're going bloody insane, Eric, and I don't know what the hell to do about it!"

"'M fine."

"And I'm the fucking queen!" Alan retorted angrily. Eric almost laughed at that. Before, he would have. "Look at yourself! You've only shaved half your face, and your tie is backwards. You're not fine, Eric, and don't insult my intelligence by trying to lie!"

"You're quite cute when you're mad."

"Stop trying to distract me! It won't work-and you haven't touched me for at least a week anyway!" Alan was well and truly brassed, and wouldn't be persuaded otherwise, no matter what Eric did.

He'd really have to work harder on acting normal. Sleep wasn't really that important, was it?

* * *

><p>"Hey, is Eric all right?" Ron asked, looking concerned Alan. "He's been a bit off for a month, hasn't he?<p>

"He had a nightmare! And now the bloody fool's not sleeping. I mean, he literally doesn't even come to bed, he's not even trying." Alan said, frustrated. "I don't know what the hell's wrong with him." Ron looked taken aback by the older man's profanity for a second, then realized that Alan was just annoyed and worried.

"You know that's sometimes considered a medical problem? Have you talked to a doctor?" The Dispatch Association employed several.

"He won't let me." Alan let out a puff of air in irritation. "The moron." Ron giggled. Alan looked a bit like his mother used to, when she was angry with him or one of his siblings. At the laugh, Alan looked at him as though he'd grown a third head. The look in his eyes said, _"I'm worried to death here and you're laughing?"_ Ron shut up immediately.

"Well, you might want to do something about it."

"I'm _trying._ I'm seriously contemplating whacking him hard about the head with something, _make_ him sleep."

Ron wasn't entirely sure Alan was joking.

* * *

><p><em> "You've stopped killing, this last week." The pretty female soul comments. Still trapped in the room in his dreams, the souls have continued to come up to him and tell him exactly what a terrible person he is. This one has listened to his "why" before berating him, and she doesn't seem at all condemning. "That's an improvement, isn't it?"<em>

_ "I s'ppose." He says. "I can't sleep."_

_ "You're asleep now, aren't you?"_

_ "Yeah, but I won't be for long. I never am."_

_ "Well, you _are_ suffering for the souls you've Reaped, Mr. Slingby." He didn't recall telling her his name. "Do you really think Alan would want this?" He hadn't told her Alan's either, had he? "You're a murderer, you realize? 800 people or more owe their deaths to you." This conversation is not going well. She had been the only unhellish soul, this one, but clearly it had been too good to be true. "You've apologized to every one of us you talk to, but it will never, never, never, be enough. Is he really worth it?"_

_ "I'm sorry to you as well." He smiles sadly._

He awoke violently, again, although this soul hadn't been too bad. They'd been airing their grievances once at a time, recently. He was standing in the kitchen of his flat, leaning over the counter-he supposed he'd fallen asleep doing the dishes or something. He sighs. Might as well at least _try_ to get some sleep-something he hasn't even bothered doing, recently.

He climbs into bed beside Alan, who wakes. It's early, early morning, one or two or some unholy hour. Alan turns to look at him, squinting from the lack of glasses, and frowns.

"You all right, Eric?"

"Not really."

"He admits it!" Alan said sourly. Eric realized he really _hadn't_ been very good, this past month. Alan must have had the patience of a saint, to hang around him consistently.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Really." Eric said. "What can I do?"

"Get some sleep, that's what you can do. Maybe when you get some decent rest you won't be such a bloody-stupid-arse." Alan turned over and pulled the covers up to his neck. _ Hooboy. He's really not pleased. _ Eric should have noticed earlier. He'd been too preoccupied with his own issues, he hadn't been worrying about Alan so much. He misses when he didn't really _have_ his own issues to work out. Stupid nightmare, for introducing him intimately to his conscience. He had been doing fine ignoring its twinges of guilt before the dreams escalated the twinges into spasms.

He hadn't been able to sleep-_quelle surprise._ He had, however, been thinking about that soul's question. _Is he really worth it?_ Stupid question, wasn't it...

* * *

><p>"There are no stupid questions." Alan said to Ron across the room. Eric's head snapped up. Alan seemed to be reading his thoughts more than usual... which was terrifying on many levels. He was pretty alert, having actually been unable to stay awake the night before. He'd fallen into a rather deep sleep. Thank god-he'd been almost non-functional the day before and Alan had been even more worried than the norm.<p>

"Just stupid _people_, who ask questions possessing a definite lack of wisdom." Grell asked, pushing past Ron and Alan, who stood in the doorway. "So what's he asking?"

"He was about to _tell_ me-" Alan said peevishly, a frown on his face.

"I was just going to ask about a procedure concerning inability to work?" Ron put in.

"You mean sick leave?" Replied Alan. "It's in the manual."

"And who reads that? That's right, nobody." Grell said, grinning. It seemed that since he'd been rather out of it, they'd gotten used to joking around without him. Good thing at least they had decent senses of humor, or he'd never be able to endure their yattering.

* * *

><p>But he was still. Not. Sleeping.<p>

And that question was still haunting him. Fucking dreams. Questioning was never Eric's favorite thing to do-Alan was always the one with the brainpower appropriate to that. Not that Eric was stupid, but he liked being confident about things.

He looked over at Alan. His partner was currently engaged in elbowing Ron in the stomach. His face was twisted into an expression of mild annoyance, and he certainly wasn't looking very 'handsome'. Eric grinned weakly. He hadn't quite crashed from lack of sleep yet, hadn't reached that point in the cycle of constant wakefulness.

"Hey, Alan, give him one from me too." He said. Alan smirked wickedly and proceeded to do so.

"Ow!" Ron protested. Alan giggled. Eric smiled again, this time with more force. "You guys are jerks."

"Yeah, well, we're _funny_ jerks." Alan raised an eyebrow and gave his best impression of a devil-may-care expression, which wasn't really that good.

"Damn straight." Eric muttered. Alan and Ron sniggered.

"Hey, Eric?" Alan said quietly as they walk in the door of his flat.

"Mm?" Eric looked over at him.

"You were almost human today-"

"To think that that's a compliment." Eric rolled his eyes.

"Well, considering that you zombie around in a constant state of sleep deprivation, god knows why, it kind of is. Look, Eric, I hate to nag, but I've tried being aggressive, I've tried leaving you alone until you would be forced to tell me, but you didn't even seem to notice, which does kind of worry me, so I'm nagging- you had a nightmare and now you aren't sleeping. What's going on? Seriously."

Eric switched into panic mode. Alan's face was tired in a different way than he felt. It was exasperated-type tired. And he didn't look like he'd be put off by any of Eric's bullshit this time.

However, Eric was a nothing if not a spectacular bullshitter, and damned if he wasn't at least going to give her a shot.

"I'm trying to figure it, mmkay, sweetheart? I swear it'll be done soon, just leave this alone, please." He said, looking pleadingly down at Alan, who sighed. "Sorry love?"

"I hate you sometimes, Eric. Now stop giving me the puppy-dog eyes and 'figger it'." Alan mocked Eric mildly on the last words. "And don't kiss me right now, I'm supposed to be mad at you." He finished, evading Eric's arm. Eric snorted.

_Yeah, he's worth it, the bastard_.

* * *

><p><em> He's back in the room. It's become a place of terror, really, though Eric prides himself on not showing it. But for whatever reason, it's not really scary this time, it's... boring?<em>

_ The white. It's all the same shade. It's so boring. Eric frowns. The souls press in. They're bombarding him with accusations as usual. _

_ "Monster."_

_ "Murderer."_

_ Eric frowns. The hell is going on? It's all exactly the same as it always is. But... he's not scared. The souls seem... weak? He brushes through them. It's like their hands don't have purchase on him anymore. He reaches the door in a matter of five steps-was it always that close before? His hand is on the doorknob when the female soul from before glides up to him. She doesn't try to touch him, to hold him back. She just looks at him with disgust._

_ "You know what's happening here?" She asks. Eric pauses._

_ "No. Do you?"_

_ "Yes. You've lost your conscience-you've decided not to feel guilty anymore, which is why we don't bother you anymore. It's not a good thing, you know."_

_ "If it helps me sleep-"_

_ "Oh, you'll sleep fine. You'll go back to killing every night, you'll go back to lying to Alan, and he'll think you're fine and he'll believe you." She shrugs._

_ "So where's the downside?"_

_ "You're losing your soul, Mr. Slingby."_

_ "I'm a live-for-the-present kind of guy." He says._

_ "Enjoy your hell..." She sighs. "Go on, open the door..."_

_ He does._

* * *

><p>Eric walked into the office, smiling brightly. Alan flashed him a smile and looked back to his paperwork. Eric has been so...<em>normal<em> this last week. He seemed to have fixed his problem, and Alan really prefers him this way.

"Oh, no you don't, sweetheart." Eric snatches the paperwork off Alan's desk. "You're not picking up any of my slack anymore. Give me the goddamn papers." Alan smiles.

"You hate paperwork."

"Yeah, well, I also hate making you get carpal tunnel from forging my signature so many times."

"I never got carpal tunnel."

"So you admit to forging my signature?"

"It's not like we didn't know. His handwriting's neater than yours by a long shot." Grell said airily. "In any case, good to have you back, Mr. Slingby."

"Don't call me that."

"Yeah, well, you call me 'poofter' and 'arse burglar'."

"He's right about that-" Alan cut in.

"When in all rights, you're an incredibly filthy hypocrite..." Grell continued.

"He's right about that too-" Alan interrupted again.

"Both of you, can it."

Everything is back to normal in the office.

_ "To sell your soul is the easiest thing in the world. That's what everybody does every hour of his life. If I asked you to keep your soul - would you understand why that's much harder?" (Ayn Rand)_


End file.
